


Vice

by jesuisfarouche



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-07
Updated: 2013-02-07
Packaged: 2017-11-28 12:15:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/674298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jesuisfarouche/pseuds/jesuisfarouche
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He couldn't pull away even if he wanted to. He doesn't want to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vice

**Author's Note:**

> Unapologetic smut. Written for the kink meme.

Another bottle downed, another night nearly forgotten. Alone in his room, Grantaire sits. He has lit no candle tonight, the streetlamps and stars brightness enough in his inebriated state. It takes him a few moments to realize he has settled down onto the floor beside his bed. The floorboards below him are cold.

This is all very well. He deserves no comfort, he thinks with a slight smile in spite of himself. He deserves nothing, and perhaps it is the mix of wine and brandy flowing through him, but his thoughts turn to self-hatred, that familiar friend that keeps him company on nights such as this. That, and the thought of Enjolras.

_Enjolras._

The name alone in his head stirs something within the cynic. Enjolras, hair of gold, skin of marble. Grantaire sees him in his mind. Those impossibly blue eyes, those red lips that begged to be touched.

He imagines Enjolras' teeth biting that bottom lip, wetting it with his tongue. He imagines the fire in those eyes of sea and ice as Enjolras' fingers grab his wrist. Tight. Vice-like. He couldn't pull away even if he wanted to. He doesn't want to.

Lost in his fantasy, Grantaire hardly notices his growing erection, hardly notices his hand snaking into his trousers, grasping the thickness there, slowly beginning to pump. In his head he attempts to pull his wrist free from Enjolras' iron grasp, but he cannot. Those long fingers grip him tighter, fingernails digging into Grantaire's flesh.

"Enjolras, please."

"Please what?"

Grantaire's eyes are locked to his.

"I don't--"

"You disgust me, Grantaire." Enjolras has backed him against the wall. "You are good for absolutely nothing."

Enjolras roughly places Grantaire's hand on the firmness in his trousers. "Make yourself useful, then, for once in your pitiful life."

His wrist is finally released. He feels his blood begin to recirculate as his fingers fumble at the buttons of Enjolras' trousers. He is half-forced and half-compelled to his knees once Enjolras' erection is freed.

He doesn't look up. He cannot look up. He strokes the thick cock in front of him once, twice, then takes it into his mouth greedily.

In the fantasy playing out in his mind, Enjolras' cock is large, thick, heavy. He tries to fit the whole thing in his mouth but he cannot. Instead he strokes the base as he sucks the half of the firm shaft he can fit in his mouth.

"No hands," Enjolras demands. Grantaire releases the cock from his mouth and looks up questioningly, but he has no time to protest before he feels the sting of a firm slap across his face. "No hands," Enjolras repeats, grabbing Grantaire's hand away from his cock. His other hand grabs Grantaire's curls and pulls his head back towards him. Grantaire takes that magnificent cock in his mouth once again.

Both of Enjolras' hands grasp his hair tightly. He pulls Grantaire's head and thrusts his hips against him, forcing his cock deep down Grantaire's throat. Grantaire gags, but cannot do much else. Enjolras thrusts forward, fucking the almost-unwilling throat in front of him. Grantaire cannot breathe, he cannot think. Enjolras' thick, hard cock moves in and out of his throat unapologetically. Spots appear in Grantaire’s vision, he can hear the blood rush in his ears, and one hand grabs desperately at the fingers tangled in his hair. After a few more thrusts he is released, and falls to the floor, gasping.

In his dark room, Grantaire strokes his own cock harder. He closes his eyes and returns to fantasy, aching.

Enjolras stands over Grantaire. He has one hand on that thick pole made wet from Grantaire's throat. He strokes himself, agonizingly slow. "Get up."

Grantaire obeys. "Undress." Grantaire obeys. Enjolras lets a satisfied grin spread across his face at the sight of Grantaire's erection. He reaches out and forces a finger into Grantaire's mouth. Grantaire sucks it, moving his tongue around it, wanting so desperately to please. "Turn around."

Enjolras removes his finger from Grantaire's mouth. Grantaire's eyes widen slightly at the order, but again he obeys.

He is bent over against the wall, hands grasping at the rough bricks, when he feels one of those long, slender fingers enter him. An uncontrollable gasp escapes his wet lips as the finger moves inside of him, made wet by his own saliva. He presses his forehead against the bricks and closes his eyes. Another finger enters him. His fist clenches. He moans.

"You love this, you filthy slut." Enjolras removes his fingers from Grantaire and places the head of his cock against his entrance.

"Beg for it."

Grantaire closes his eyes tighter. "Please." A flash of pain and a stinging sensation as Enjolras smacks his ass cheek.

"Please what?"

"Please, please fuck me."

In his room, Grantaire strokes his cock fiercely. He can almost feel the cool, rough bricks against his face, the sting where Enjolras' hand had connected with his flesh, the head of that magnificent cock at his asshole.

"Fuck me, I _beg_ of you."

Enjolras obliges.

Grantaire cries out as Enjolras penetrates him, the only lubrication that from when he had fucked Grantaire's throat. Grantaire slams his fist against the brick and can't help but clench his muscles around the thickness invading him. Enjolras pauses a few moments, less for Grantaire's benefit and more to allow the natural stretch to let him in further. He begins to thrust.

Grantaire lets him in. He thinks only of the cock inside of him, pushing in far, almost too far, then pulling out and slamming back in again. Over and over. He moves his hips back against Enjolras, who has reached a quick, steady rhythm. Enjolras grabs Grantaire's hair and pulls his head up, forcing him to arch his back.

This allows him to push in deeper. Grantaire pants, one hand against the bricks to steady himself, the other furiously pumping his own cock. Enjolras does not let go of his hair. Grantaire's world is pain and pleasure mixed into one. He allows that cock to fill him, lets Enjolras debauch him, until finally Enjolras pulls on his hair forcing him closer, moves his arm around Grantaire's chest to pull him in impossibly close, and releases his seed, still buried deep inside Grantaire.

In the darkness of his room, Grantaire's eyes snap open. He comes hard, pumping at his cock, semen spilling onto his hand and soiling his trousers. He breathes heavily.

He sits there on the cold floorboards and comes down from his high, alone in the darkness.


End file.
